Falling Like the Colored Leaves
by Friendly Voices
Summary: The Elvenking was losing his mind. It was a process that had started some time ago and every year he slipped further and further away. Now he couldn't even remember how it felt not to feel like this, how it felt not to be consumed by fire.
1. Part one

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, obviously.

* * *

><p><strong>Falling Like the Colored Leaves, part one<strong>

It was madness. The Elvenking closed his eyes for a brief moment and shuddered, drawing up his robes around his shoulders more tightly. It was utter madness.

"I know you are there." He moved to the other end of the hall. He always knew when she was near. It was as natural as breathing – in and out – he knew precisely when Tauriel entered a room and when she left it – in and out. He felt how far from him she stood, and when she watched him. These moments were sparse and lasted only a second, though. He made sure to know if she watched someone else, too – and how long her eyes stayed trained on them and who they were. It interested him greatly who had caught her attention, especially if it was a male.

"Why do you linger in the shadows?" Thranduil turned and faced the corridor.

"I was coming to report to you." Tauriel answered, her restless movements betraying her calm facade. She was agitated and she refused to meet his gaze for more than a split of a second. She never did and Thranduil wondered if she was afraid of what she saw in his eyes – if he hadn't managed to conceal what could be reflecting there – or if she thought it to be a sign of the respect she was supposed to show to him.

Either possibility infuriated him nonetheless. His weaknesses pained him and her defiance could not be masked by any false respectfulness.

"I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed not two moons past," he said airily.

Tauriel gazed at him angrily and started pacing in order to avoid looking at him altogether. It was a clever move – under any other circumstance he could assume it was due to her agitation, not the unwillingness to look his way. Oh, Thranduil was very well aware of how she despised him and it never failed to bring a small smile to his lips.

"We cleared the forest as ordered, my lord. But more spiders keep coming up from the South. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Guldur. If we could kill them at their source…"

The bitter smile graced his lips once more and disappeared before she could see.

"That fortress lies beyond our borders." Thranduil couldn't care less but he knew she did. "Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task."

"And when we drive them off, what then?" She glanced at him. "Will they not spread to other lands?"

"Other lands are not my concern." That answer would give him her full attention, surely. And the she-elf did not disappoint him.

Tauriel stood still for a moment, disbelief reflecting in her open face. She was so young, so easy to read. Then the anger came, her inner fire – brighter than anything he had ever seen – shimmering in her green eyes. She felt betrayed by his decision, but Thranduil was betrayed by the continuous disobedience she had kept showing.

"The fortunes of the world will rise and fall. But here in this kingdom, we will endure."

The fire, her fire, he welcomed it. Let it burn him, let it consume him. It was all he would ever get from the Captain, it was the only emotion directed solely on him, and the only part of Tauriel he could claim as his. The pain caused by the knowledge could be compared to the burning agony he had felt for the first time so long ago in the North. There was just one difference between these two kinds of burning. The scars left from his encounters with the great serpents were cold and biting like the most severe winter frosts, and it left him dead and unfeeling inside just like the flesh of his left face was dead and numb on the outside. The scar left from Tauriel's fire was hot, made his blood boil and his heart beat.

It made him feel alive. It drove him insane.

Turning away, he was unable to watch her go. Then the almighty ruler of Mirkwood decided he was not willing to part with her just yet, not without inflicting a little bit of the hurt she always left in her wake.

"Legolas said you fought well today."

Tauriel stopped and half-turned to him, smiling softly. That smile, while very pleasing to Thranduil's eyes, were not meant for him. It stung and in response, his smile grew wicked. "He has grown very fond of you."

"I assure you, my lord… Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain of the guard." Tauriel spluttered, embarrassed and slightly anxious – as she should be. All fear the temper of the King.

"Perhaps he did once." Sickly satisfied, Thranduil moved towards her, fascinated by the worried expression on her face. She feared his reaction, that much was true, however it was not for the reasons he wished it to be. She would never suspect, never have a hint of his emotions. Remembering himself, Thranduil sneered and changed direction. "Now I am not so sure."

He turned his back to her so Tauriel could not have the chance to see his face. While he did like to tease her, to make her hurt – to a certain degree – he did not wish to scare the poor elleth too much, or to make her hate him completely. He could very well fade should that be the case. He poured himself a goblet of wine, even thought it was too early to drink.

"I do not think you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan Elf." She choked out, now truly upset.

"No, you are right. I would not." He wouldn't have allowed it even if they both loved each other dearly. Thranduil knew that she did not love his son even if Legolas admired her almost as desperately as Thranduil himself. "Still, he cares about you."

Thranduil wondered what could be more painful. Having part of her heart as a token of friendship, or having none of it? And Tauriel herself! She was observant and his son was so very obvious in his affections. She must know what the Prince felt, and it must pain her also.

"Do not give him hope where there is none." Thranduil advised, suddenly tired. For the remainder of the day, he felt burnt out. He would require more of Tauriel's spark another day.

* * *

><p>AN: As a non-native speaker, I have to thank my gracious beta <strong>ShadowLink5<strong> for the help. It's very much appreciated :)


	2. Part two

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, obviously.

Dedicated to my beta reader, **ShadowLink5**, as a thank you for all her amazing work :)

* * *

><p><strong>Falling Like the Colored Leaves, part two<strong>

To the King, there were no more despicable creatures than the Orcs. He despised them, he loathed them; these twisted and maimed children of the darkness, the plague of Middle-Earth. They had entered his kingdom, they had sneaked so close to the palace itself. _How dare they!_

The barely restrained rage pulsed through him. He had to force his limbs to be still and in order to do so he eventually crossed his arms so he would not be tempted to end the miserable existence of thing in front of him. While he spoke, however, his voice hadn't wavered once, and he appeared to be completely unfazed.

"Not thirteen, not anymore." The creature said. "The young one…"

As it had always been, Thranduil was aware of the change in Tauriel's face, noticed her stiffen almost before she herself registered her body's reactions.

"… the black-haired archer? We stuck him with a Morgul shaft. The poison's in his blood. He'll be choking on it soon." The orc was so proud of its foul deed but the King was not paying much attention to him. His gaze was on Tauriel and he observed detachedly the various expressions in her eyes – worry, horror and pain.

"Answer the question, filth." She all but hissed. The Elvenking bristled slightly. The fire of Tauriel's anger – the fire he considered his – was directed at the orc with full force. He insulted her, and her blade gleamed.

"I would not antagonize her." Legolas advised.

It was sickening, how his own son tried so hard to win the elleth's heart – a quest doomed to fail. Thranduil could see it clearly, now he understood. His fingers curled. The dwarf, the youngest heir of Oakenshield…

"You like killing things, orc? You like death? Then let me give it to you!" Tauriel lunched forward, ready to kill the creature.

"Enough! Tauriel, leave." The King thundered. Now, her fire was burning only for him again and Thranduil basked in its flames, longing to return the anger with equal strength. He wished to hate the she-elf, who dared to have feelings for a dwarf. Not her King, not her Prince… but a dwarf.

She left slowly, passing him with her face turned away. Thranduil still could picture her expression – so full of passion and righteous anger. This side of her infuriated and excited him the most and the Elvenking was hard pressed not to reach for the elleth. He was uncertain if he wanted to shake her to her senses or to simply choke her to death.

_A greedy young fool of a dwarf – has she lost her mind?_

The answer to his question was clear, so he focused on the matter at hand. He would kill the orc for her, if only to appease his own bloodlust. Thranduil's eyes glistered in anticipation. He needed to remind himself that his son was still present, so it would be unwise to tear the orc to pieces, though.

_A beheading would improve the orc's appearance_, the King mused, the tension leaving his body and the unearthly light granted to all of his kind entering his eyes. "Tell us what you know and I will set you free."

In the evening, he would have a word with Tauriel. She could not fraternize with mortals, it would lead only to heartbreak and Thranduil wished to spare her such a pain. After all, no matter what his own feelings towards her were, the Captain was his subject and he protected his people. He would make sure she would be protected against the dwarf, or herself, should the need arise.

Later that evening was Thranduil forced to reconsider his thoughts. For the first time in centuries he let the fire to burn him freely and gave up control of his temper.

"My lord, the guards at the gate are concerned. There is still no word from the Prince." The elf delivering the message had said gingerly and lingered near the door.

Thranduil had stilled his hands and glanced from his reading. His voice had been so very soft: "Why there should be any word from my son?"

The messenger swallowed and inched closer to the door, his handsome face worried. "The Prince was… retrieving Captain Tauriel."

The King had closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly, and the parchment in his hands had been crumpled. "Why, pray tell, should there be any need to retrieve our esteemed captain?"

But he had known the answer as soon as he had heard that she had sneaked away.

_Run to aid that thrice cursed dwarf!_ Thranduil breathed in and looked stoically around his private study. He let the breath escape him again and sat down on his chair. His study was in ruins and he shortly wondered if it had truly been necessary. It served only as a remainder of his failure – to rein his temper, to master his unacceptable feelings towards the insufferable elleth, to keep her and his son safe.

They were going to be killed, Thranduil was certain of it. He would not allow that, he could not. Rising from his seat, he marched to the door. "Galion, GALION!"

"Yes, my lord… What happened, my king?" Galion had rushed through the door only to jump back again in order to avoid a collision with his enraged king.

"Yes, well." The Elvenking stopped and firmly closed the door behind him. "I believe there was an accident."

"I will see to it immediately, my lord." Galion smoothed his tunic and bowed. Thranduil watched him for a moment, making a decision. The King's temper was not under any resemblance of control and to act in such a state could cost him dearly. He wanted his son alive; strangling him would not be a plausible option. Furthermore, he could hardly leave Mirkwood unprotected – without Legolas and the Captain of the Guard there was no one authorized to make any significant military decisions. Thranduil could not leave himself.

"No, my friend. You will saddle a horse, and ride towards the Laketown."

The dwarves needed supplies and Laketown was the only place they could get them. They would be there and where the dwarves were, Tauriel would be… And wherever the elleth was, Legolas was certain to appear.

"I will?" The butler looked perplexed. "Why will I do that?"

"It seems that my son has misplaced himself and I want him brought back." Thranduil said bitingly. "See to it."

"As you wish, my lord." Galion bowed again. "Anything else?"

Thranduil waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and lifted his head, straightened his shoulders. He was betrayed, his orders disobeyed. Her fire abated, leaving him scorched, hollow and cold. It was a feeling he knew far too well. So the untouchable and unfeeling Elvenking was made of stone once again.

"Galion? I have a word for Tauriel, should you meet her." Thranduil's lips curled.

Tauriel had chosen a stranger over the safety of her people – that alone was a reason enough to remove her from her position and he would not forget how easily she had forsaken her duties. However, her worst transgression he would never forgive. Thranduil was a vengeful creature and she had hurt him, albeit unknowingly. She had chosen a dwarf over her King and while he was aware that one day she might pledge herself to someone else, it was too soon; he was not ready, he was too vain and too prideful.

"She is never to return to Mirkwood. There is no place for her." His hands clenched into fists. He would never see her again, but he was determined to endure any pain the lack of her fire could cause him. He hadn't faded after his wife had left Arda, nor did he plan to fade now.

So why did it feel like he had just lost his footing and was falling into an endless abyss filled only with darkness?


	3. Part three

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, obviously.

* * *

><p><strong>Falling Like the Colored Leaves, Part Three<strong>

He had come to reclaim something that belonged to him, and only him. How selfish it was, how foolish? A selfish person Thranduil might be, but he was no fool. Even though much of elvish blood had been spilled, and he was unwilling to sacrifice more of it, this endeavor was not worthless and not without a cause. He had more than one reason to come; killing orcs was an added bonus and his blades had drunk their share greedily.

His son had survived the dragon fire unscathed. Tauriel had not been harmed. They were away from the fighting and knowing this, the Elvenking could breathe more easily.

The supplies for people of Laketown had been delivered and an ally, Bard the Bowman, had been made. The presence of Mirkwood forces had turned the tide of battle – without them, the humans would have been squashed and dwarves wouldn't have lasted much longer. These facts appeased his conscience slightly. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Tauriel would have been so excited.

The thought made him shook his head. Now it was time to come home; the two things he treasured the most were not here and Thranduil wanted – needed – to find them and to do that, he needed to live and to stay sane just a little bit longer.

Without slowing he killed the attacking orc effortlessly, but then he stopped short. He was losing his mind, that was for sure, because Thranduil could swear that the she-elf plaguing his thoughts every waking moment was suddenly standing in his way no more than a few feet from him.

He focused, opening his heart, and immediately felt her presence filling it – she was truly there and he was floored.

Thranduil's first impulse was to reach for her, to make sure she was still unharmed. It had been only several days, but the separation had taken its toll on him. He had been used to know where Tauriel was. He had always made certain to be informed of the schedule of her patrols. He knew all her habits – at what time she usually ate, slept, made merry. He knew which places she liked occupy in her free time. He had made a point to always know about her acquaintances and friends.

When the news of Smaug's awakening had arrived, his heart had stopped beating in fear for the lives of his son and this obstinate child. Not knowing precisely where she had been and what she had been doing… it had been agonizing. Not feeling her presence near him had forced the King to close and guard his heart and mind; otherwise he would have tried to reach her, search for her, pointlessly depleting his energy.

His second reaction was agitation – she and Legolas were not supposed to be in the ruins of Dale. He had to take them to safety immediately. Thranduil refused to lose someone dear to him at the hands of orcs; not again.

"You will go no further!" Tauriel spoke then and her voice was hoarse, shaking and so, so angry. "You will not turn away, not this time!"

It was about the dwarf. Would it always be only about the dwarf? Could she not see how unworthy that runt was? Could she not see it was pointless to feel anything for a mortal? Thranduil's temper flared – all the suppressed worries and loses of today and ages past made him choke with rage.

His third reaction was uncontrollable, terrible fury.

"Get out of my way!" The king snarled. In that moment, he hated Tauriel for her unawareness of how effortlessly she affected him – what she had made him feel, how she had made him act.

"The dwarves will be slaughtered…"

"Yes, they will die." He smiled, his otherwise pleasant smile had a nasty cruel taint near the corners of his lips. He was disgusting the elleth and it pleased him to see her shocked and pained.

"Today. Tomorrow." Thranduil grimaced and took a step forward. Then another one and another. He would make her see sense. "One or a hundred years from now. What does it matter? They are mortal."

Tauriel's reaction was a firestorm of anger. She lifted her bow and aimed at him, precisely at his lips which had spitted such poisonous words. The king was taken aback; his mouth opened and closed and he was rendered speechless.

"You think your life is worth more than theirs wherein there's no love in it?" Her hands were steady while her voice was shaking terribly. She articulated slowly: "There is no love in you."

_No love in me?_ Thranduil wanted to laugh right into her face. How wrong the elleth was, and she had no idea. She would never know, never understand how deeply these particular words of hers had cut him. His expression turned to stone and he glanced to the side.

His sword sang in the air, cutting her bow in half. The useless pieces of wood fell from Tauriel's hands, tears filled her eyes and Thranduil pressed the tip of his sword to her throat.

"What do you know of love?" He sneered. He should kill her, and in his state of mind, he would do it at the slightest provocation. "Nothing! What do you feel for that dwarf, is not real!"

Tauriel didn't move, but her ever so expressive eyes told him more than any words could. She loved the dwarf, or she believed she loved him, and his mortality didn't matter to her. It seemed that nothing else but the dwarven prince mattered to her. She would kill for him. Would she die for him, too?

"You think this love? Are you ready to die for it?" It hurt more than Thranduil would have expected, more than he thought possible. What he had been thinking when he had set out for her? To find her, scold her and bring her home? Never, it could never be so…

His sword was pushed down, not that Thranduil had held it with much of strength in the first place. He let his arm fall, turning to meet his son's eyes.

"If you hurt her, you'll have to kill me." Legolas gazed up at him resolutely, so young and so determined, so in love. His son's love for the elleth was different than Thranduil's; it was selfless and pure, whereas the King loved her deeply, obsessively and selfishly.

Thranduil's face crumbled and his shoulders dropped. What had he become?

The Elvenking was unable to watch them go, and unable to stop them. He could not catch his breath for a long moment, lost in his mind – reliving what had just transpired. When Thranduil lifted his head again, both Legolas and Tauriel were gone and he was left there standing alone with only a growing sense of horror and shame.

He had lost them both, and all it took was one moment of blind rage and violent jealousy.

"My… my lord?"

"Yes?" Thranduil pressed his hand to the breastplate of his armor, over the place where his heart was beating madly. He still could not breath, and there was a sudden pain in his chest, unbearable crippling pain driving any other emotion away.

"What are your orders, my king?"

"Clear a part of the city, secure it and gather there the wounded. Tend to them regardless their race. If you encounter any women or children, bring them there also, and keep the place safe." He closed his eyes to blink away the visions of lifeless bodies. "But first of all, do not risk any more of our lives unnecessarily."

"Yes, my lord."

Thranduil waved his commanders away before anyone could ask more questions. It was rather unexpected change of situation. Some hesitated, but all of them eventually disappeared into the depths of the city to carry out their king's orders.

The Elvenking then drew his second blade and weighed both swords in his hands. Slowly, determinedly, he started to move in the direction he assumed the Ravenhill was. Any orc crossing his path was killed without much of a thought. Thranduil focused solely on one thing and one thing only – he had come here to retrieve what was his. He would not lose them – and if he had to hack his way through the whole army of orcs, then so be it.

He moved steadily forward, systematically destroying everything in his way with deadly precision, even though he was almost stopped and overpowered three times. Then the Eagles came rushing from the skies. Thranduil straightened and grimly cleared his blades, sheathing them. Two of the large birds were clearing the vicinity of Ravenhill and he knew his swords would not be needed.

Anxiety filled him and his steps slowed. He was afraid to reach the guard-post, yet he didn't stop moving.

Finding Legolas whole was a miracle – and while his son looked sad and frustrated, Thranduil knew it was due to the disillusionment he felt. Should Tauriel be dead, his son would have been broken and grieving. Should Tauriel be dead, he was certain that he would have felt it in his heart.

The king was not surprised, though, when Legolas announced his intentions. Too much had happened between them, the three of them, for his boy to handle. He could clearly see the regret in his son's face and understood his need to distance himself.

Despite all the harsh words and actions of today, Thranduil still was his father, and he couldn't let Legolas leave without making amends.

"Your mother loved you, Legolas, more than anything. More than life itself." The King assured him. _As I do_, was left unspoken, but the prince understood, for he nearly turned and then he reached with one hand for his father.

Smiling painfully, Thranduil bowed his head – and then Legolas was gone. For a moment, the King stood motionless, just breathing in and out, calming his racing heart. He had not lost his son entirely, and it brought him a little bit of relief.

After Legolas's silent footsteps vanished, Thranduil caught a sound that frightened him; sobs of someone in unimaginable pain, Tauriel's sobs. He needed not to follow the sounds, he knew where she was and that she was physically unharmed, as he had always know in the past when he had focused on her.

Hesitatingly, he headed towards her, entering the open space filled with light. The King felt like falling again when he laid his eyes on the scene before him: Tauriel was sitting on the ground, leaning over her dwarf. He was her dwarf and Thranduil saw no point in referring to him in any other manner

"They want to bury him."

Gathering all of his strength, Thranduil managed to sound collected. "Yes."

"If this is love, I don't want it. Take it from me, please!" She whispered, more and more tears escaping her eyes. Unconsciously, Thranduil stepped towards her. She loved the dwarf – it was no illusion, not an infatuation or a passing fancy. She loved him and the king would never have a chance. Not that he had ever believed there could be anything between him and the captain, but to know it with certainty, see the evidence with his own eyes…

"Why does it hurt so much?" She wailed.

"Because it was real." _It hurts the most when it is real_.

Thranduil had been wrong. He should have known that, he should have felt that. Now it was too late to do anything. He would have gladly let her leave, he would have gladly blessed her union with the dwarf, even thought it would have killed him slowly. This – seeing her in such a pain, fearing that she would soon follow the dwarven prince, knowing that she very well might – was the end of him.

The Elvenking stood there – numb, hopeless and helpless – and watched Tauriel kiss her loved one. He felt her heartache; it was joining with his own in an enormous river of sorrow and grief. Then he very slowly and very awkwardly stepped around them and knelt down next to her feet, blocking her from the harsh beams of sunlight. Tauriel glanced at him, her face pale and eyes red, and he simply held her gaze for a moment.

"We shall leave when you are ready." The King slipped off his gauntlet and for the first time ever he touched her cheek briefly. "For now, grieve."

He was not burnt, and he felt no fire when his fingers were seemingly accidentally tangled in Tauriel's hair. In his chest, the pain wouldn't stop throbbing. Thranduil identified the reason what had hurt him so much, and why he could not summon even the slightest sliver of anger, or any emotion except for misery and regret.

Freeing his hand, he turned towards the valley, sat down and watched the sun rising higher and higher, while the elleth behind him wept.

The land below him was barren and cold, there were no trees in sight. He longed to see trees, the trees of his beloved forest realm. He longed to walk beneath their branches and watch the colored leaves fall. This time of the year was beautiful in the heart of his kingdom. Upon his return home, he would visit it. He would lie down on the ground and rest on the fallen leaves.

_What is one more to fall?_ Thranduil smiled tiredly and closed his eyes, a strange sense of calm and peace settling over him. Unbeknownst to Tauriel, she was mourning two deaths of two fools who had loved her fiercely to the very end, and were now laid at her feet.

The Elvenking had started to fade.

* * *

><p><strong>Sequel posted<strong>:** The Vigor of Spring**


End file.
